


Something, Nothing, Everything

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Body Hair, Desperation, Father's Day, Frottage, Lapdance, Love Confessions, M/M, Pole Dancing, Relationship(s), Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Father's Day Fic #3</b> - It wasn't sensual, it wasn't even charged; it was only a gentle touch that could have been <i>anything</i> in that moment. It could have been <i>something</i> and <i>nothing</i> all in the same breath. <i>And then it was everything</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something, Nothing, Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "I Love U" by Tila Tequila (he's dancing to "Barrel Of A Gun" by Depeche Mode and Океан Ельзи – Обійми (OST Битва за Севастополь))

Dick really hadn't thought this through before he'd acted. Granted, that was something Bruce had been shaking his finger in his face over for _years_ , but this one was really going to take the damn cake. 

Years of knowing Bruce's habits had brought him out here tonight; at least a month's worth of hard work and one or two on-the-sly classes had set him up to be able to actually accomplish what he wanted. 

Dick shifted the heavy midnight black curtain back, peeking around the edge toward the crowd, scanning the faces until he found Bruce. Left of the stage, some tall drink of water sitting next to him, one of the many girls he kept around for the convenience of Bruce Wanye's public face. But Dick knew the truth, had for years. Bruce did what he had to, put forth the man that the media needed to see, but he wasn't that man at all. More Bat than rich playboy and more importantly more into men than women. He'd been denying that particular sway for _years_ despite how early on Dick had seen right through it. 

But tonight... _tonight_ wasn't any ordinary night here at Club Diamond. No, tonight was Father's Night; a project everyone had put together to appeal to anyone who happened to be a dad - and of course the regulars who were probably not. They'd brought in support acts from all over the nation and Dick's resume had carefully toted him as one of the best at a club that had conveniently closed with the record keepers all too far into the judicial system for anyone to check his story. 

Letting the curtain swing back into place, Dick turned back to the mirror, turning to the side and checking the itty bitty booty shorts he was wearing, all green and metallic, snake-print carefully designed into the fabric. It was _close enough_ to something else that he was sure Bruce would be smacked in the face with the resemblance, but far enough away it wasn't going to slap his face all over everything as 'the man that used to be Robin'. Especially with several years of Nightwing under his belt; he didn't need that giant outing. Bad enough he somehow decided it was a brilliant idea to expose everything out here tonight _physically_ , but the rest would just add insult to a _horrible_ idea. 

Pulling the matching green boots all the way back up to mid-thigh, he finally added tape to the inside of each one and sealed them to his thighs. Mentally, he decided that he'd earned a new respect for strippers with all of this. It was _difficult_. All the primping and the effort put into routines and music choices and even the _pain_ of these damn heels and the slide of a pole against slightly sweaty skin. Not even to mention fighting off the assholes who thought looking and touching were the same thing or the ones who paid a _lot_ of money in some effort to think that they _deserved_ to be fucked in the VIP room when it was clearly against the rules. In a way, it was like some perverse variation of being a superhero only with a hell of a lot less leeway to punch a bitch in the face. That part had already left Dick pissed off on his practice night - a Wednesday, of course, when Bruce was out of town.

He turned again, glancing toward one of the girls who had helped him with what insoles to put in his shoes on Wednesday and he gave her a smile. She came over and leaned up on tiptoes, whispering in his ear, "I know who you're looking at. _Everyone_ looks at him. But he never takes any of us to the VIP. I think he's the only one we'd _let_ do whatever he wanted, you know?" She let out a little sigh, pulling back a bit. "I mean, he's the only guy out there that's not a damn creep about it. I never _get_ it. He just comes in with that girl, every Sunday, drops about a grand, and then leaves with her. Maybe it's a thing. I don't know. But he pays good. For _all of us_ , like he doesn't have a favorite." She patted Dick on the shoulder. "So make sure you shake it for him, he'll give you the sugar. But don't bother trying to make him tuck the bill in anywhere, he won't."

Dick quirked his lips up into a daring little grin, a glint in his eyes. So Bruce was playing hero then, even here. Trying to make sure the workers got whatever money they deserved at least once a week... and probably to make sure no one was hurting anyone in this club while he was at it. That left him wondering who the hell the girl was, though he'd never given enough of a shit to find out before. Dick's fingers brushed over his stripper-helper's wrist and he leaned in, lips brushing against her ear. "Oh, I detect a challenge. Just _watch_ , I bet I get him in the VIP while barely lifting a damn finger."

She huffed out a laugh. "Oh, I bet it's not going to be a _finger_ you'll lift out there, pretty boy." She swatted his shoulder and winked. "You're up next."

Dick moved to the stairs leading up the stage, taking them to the top and waiting just behind the thinner black curtains, feeling the breeze as he waited on his song to start, for the announcement to come. 

"Next up Haly Gray! Long-time dancer, new to our club, he's got a different twist to the usual out here tonight! He promises it's all props, folks! Welcome to Gotham!"

The lights went completely dark and the first echoing beats of the song came up. Dick darted out onto stage, soundless as ever, letting himself fall into a crouch as the synth picked up and when the bass started to come in, the lights slowly lightened, fraction by fraction until they were the usual club-dim by the time he began his walk toward the center stage, hands out to his sides, palms facing forward, fingers outstretched, his gaze only on the pole in front of him.

The vocals came on and he could sense the ripple of recognition, no matter how _old_ the song was in this sort of scene. One foot in front of the other, years of acrobat training putting him as though he were walking a tight rope. As he arrived at the pole, the music changed and he grasped the pole, dropping down into a crouch and spreading his legs, doing a slow roll of his hips toward the pole, his left hand creeping up the pole, a slow glide as he came back up, hips still guiding him in gentle rock after rock each inch he moved upward. Switching the direction of his grip, he turned and let himself fall back against the pole, let his head fall back as another dancer tucked and rolled out onto the stage, neatly standing up.

Her movements were jerky, just as they'd planned, a sharp contrast to his smoothness. Her hand came up from the side away from Bruce and just as the words announced _staring down the barrel of a gun_ she brought the gun up and leveled it at him. 

Dick tightened his grip and kicked himself upward, hands holding tight as he inverted himself on the pole to a round of gasps from the onlookers. He wrapped his ankles and let go with his hands, easing his torso forward and bringing his hands into the shape of a gun and settling a definitive look on her as he cocked the imaginary gun and then they both pulled the triggers at the same instant. Dick let himself fall toward the floor, only catching himself at the last second, the crowd's collective fear nearly palpable as Dick rolled out of it, swept her feet out from under her and caught her in nearly the same action, something that had taken _a lot_ of trust to get her to do after only one night practicing on the mats. They'd gone over it nearly twenty times before she'd been confident he wouldn't miss her no matter what.

Dick bounced her back up and then spun her out to the side and neatly lowered her to the floor, kneeling over her and folding her hands over her chest, placing the gun over her hands, and then creeping back toward the pole. At the last second, he jumped, grabbing as far up as he could reach and then using only his upper body strength, pushed himself out to the side and then up until his feet touched the roof. Grasping the pole with his legs, he took a deep breath and solidified his grip. A second later, he began to swing himself down and then back up, legs straddling the pole each time; on every upward swing, he let go of the pole for an instant, the constant movement shifting him down the pole until the last one left him sitting on the stage. He lowered himself onto his back, bringing his hands up into the shape of a gun again as the song slipped toward the end and he closed his eyes, tilting his hands toward himself, lowering, lowering, and then... the lights went dark as the song ended and his counterpart pulled the trigger on her prop, the click echoing in the silent room.

The lights slowly came back up as a guitar began to play, the most gentle and melancholic of melodies beginning. Dick slowly raised his hands from where he'd rested them over his heart, spreading them over his body and then out to the sides as he sat up, pushing himself to his feet without using his hands to help him up at all. He circled the pole a few times, his hands coming to push through his hair, confusion clouding his face. He paused, closing his eyes and then dropped his head, jerking his head back up and letting his hands fall, the strain of his muscles showing as he moved them downward, fear written on his face.

Three rushing steps forward and then a quick turn-around to bring him back, rushing toward the pole, grasping for it a good foot from where he should have been if he were really trying to grab it. He did it again and again, growing progressively more and more frantic in his attempts until he finally spun and fell on his knees right in front of Bruce, his chest heaving with a fake need to gasp for air, and he reached for him, hands stopping an inch from touching him as their eyes met. 

Dick let his hands slowly fall to the floor in front of him, let his head bow and his eyes close as his shoulders heaved as though he were crying. Slowly, he rolled himself back up - still sitting with his legs tucked under him, thighs spread, hands firmly on the floor - until he was gazing up at the ceiling. He pushed on his hands, leaning his weight there as he slowly brought his legs out and then eased down into a split and then up off the floor by a half inch or so, a few murmurs of approval from the crowd around them going up. He slid his legs back under him and reached for Bruce again, this time letting his face display hope, letting a light and a wonder touch his eyes as he cupped the back of his neck and used him as a slight brace to pull himself forward, knowing Bruce would tense the right things immediately to not even move a fraction with the force of it. His knees hit the edge of the stage and Dick leaned in as though he were going to kiss Bruce, his free hand sliding down Bruce's arm gently urging his hand up from where it rested on the low ledge in front of them, bringing it up to his thigh and resting it there. 

It wasn't sensual, it wasn't even charged; it was only a gentle touch that could have been _anything_ in that moment. It could have been _something_ and _nothing_ all in the same breath. _And then it was everything_. Bruce's fingers trailed up Dick's thigh, Dick's hand moving with his as if he were the one doing the movement even though he wasn't at all. Fire ignited in the pit of his stomach and his breath caught in his throat as those fingers slid over his hipbone, as they followed his waistband around just enough to splay his hand over the expanse just beside the most dangerous territory of all. 

Their eyes locked again and Dick let his lips part, let desire heat his gaze, let the blaze that had been ever-present ignite... and he let Bruce see it all. He felt the skim of Bruce's other hand, felt the bills being tucked into his waistband and the way Bruce's hand _nearly_ grazed down over his rapidly increasing arousal. The song began to come down and Dick slowly pulled himself away, dragging his feet across the stage as he went to the pole, spun himself up onto it and held himself out from it, making a slow round, carefully creating the illusion of walking on air, one dragging footstep at a time as he went round and round. 

As the song came down to an end, Dick let himself down, slowly sliding to the floor at the base of the pole and then leaning back against it, his eyes closing, and his hands dropping to his lap.

The lights went dark again and he pulled himself up, disappearing from the stage, ducking back behind the curtains. 

Three steps in and he felt a multitude of hands on him, the low chatter of congratulations and questions of how he'd gotten _the_ Bruce Wayne to _touch_ him clamoring excitedly around him. All he could do was offer little half-stammered lines as he shook his head until his co-partner-in-dance led him away from the others. "They were all too stunned to tip you that way. You have to go out there on the floor area and make the rounds between tables. You'll get some tips that way."

Dick pulled the bills Bruce had given him from his suit and gave them a glance, keeping the smallest bill, tucking it into his boot instead and then gently pushing the other bills into her hand. "The money's not the important part. Whatever I earn out there, you get a cut of for helping me." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then he was off, meandering through the tables. As she'd predicted, people were quick to ply him with bills, a lot of them telling him they'd never seen anything like what he'd just done up there, some just silently holding money out to him, already transfixed by the thump of a new song, the skill of a new dancer, and yet others ignored him completely. 

He kept himself from going right to Bruce, let him see him making the round of the room before he found himself with one hand on Bruce's back, the other hand held out, and a silent invitation in his eyes. Bruce turned to see him and for one heart-breaking instant, Dick thought for sure he was going to be turned down; then Bruce was tucking his hand into Dick's own, standing and allowing himself to be guided toward the back. They went the discreet route to the VIP room, Dick clicking the door shut behind them and instantly bringing one finger up to his lips to keep Bruce quiet as he knelt and slid his hand over the toe of his boot, finding the small disk he'd placed there, depressing it and hearing the quiet _zap_ of it engaging. 

Standing back up, he took Bruce's hand again, leading him to the couch and pushing Bruce down on it, sliding to straddle him, his hands pressed to his chest as he leaned in. "This is no accident, my being here." He ran his fingertips over the buttons on Bruce's shirt, slowly starting to pop them open, one by one, revealing the slight smattering of hair on his chest as he did so. When he finally had it completely open, he pushed the fabric aside and slid his hands over his chest, letting his eyelids go half-lidded, allowing the hitch in his breath at the feeling of each hair under his touch. 

Their eyes met again when he glanced up and Dick didn't hesitate this time, leaning in to catch Bruce's lips with his own, delving his tongue in and tasting what he'd wanted to for so many years. His hips rocked and he let out a surprised little cry as his arousal brushed right up against Bruce's own. His legs spread even more, pushing him harder against him and he hooked one arm around Bruce's shoulders, kissing him harder as he began a constant movement, letting his little moans and groans go freely against Bruce's lips. 

When they finally parted, Dick let his tongue dart out to lap over Bruce's lower lip, licking away the saliva there as he brought his hands to rest on his shoulders, stilling himself for the moment. A shudder slid through him. "If you had _any_ idea how long..." he shook his head, lowering his gaze down over Bruce's chest to the obvious evidence of his excitement bulging in his pants. He slid one hand down to cup him, feeling the size and shape of his cock, grasping and squeezing until Bruce moaned, giving it a firm jerk.

Bruce's head hit the back of the sofa and his hips pushed up and couldn't stop the whisper of, "Oh thank God..." before he was nearly tearing at Bruce's pants, barely being civil about getting into them and not bothering with any pretense at all once they were open, wrenching both underwear and pants out of the way the instant he could manage it. He stared down at his new found prize, committing everything to memory, _knowing_ he'd probably never be allowed an instant like this ever again. 

When Bruce's fingertips began to pluck bills from his waistband, he barely even noticed; neglected to see him neatly stack them off to the side or to even try to decide why it was happening as he wrapped his hand around Bruce's cock, feeling the near-steel hardness of it, knowing _just_ how aroused he had to be to be this hard for him. If he were lucky... teetering on the edge... because _fuck_ he wanted to see Bruce cum.

Panting softly, he rolled his hips, even knowing it would do him no good all the way back here on his lap. But he was so aroused he couldn't stop himself. Another roll and then a groan and Bruce's hands were pulling down his shorts to mid-thigh, revealing everything of him to the air.

"Dick." His voice was a quiet rumble, the kind that Dick had only dreamed of, the kind that had said his name a million times while he'd pleasured himself in the shower or alone in his own bed in the years he'd left Batman and Robin behind for his own brand of adventure. It was the voice he'd never thought he'd have directed at him.

When he surged forward, Bruce didn't stop him, and when he began the wild rut of a man who'd repressed everything for far too long, Bruce only joined him. Rock for rock, grind for grind, Bruce was there, his hands exploring Dick's body in a way that was more desperate than Dick would have thought Bruce would be. But he could feel the tension in him, could feel the way his pulse pounded when he found it with his fingertips, could hear the rasp of his breath as they moved in unison. "Tell me..." Dick let himself sound exactly how he felt, "Tell me you've wanted this before tonight." Unspoken - even if it was a lie.

Bruce pushed his hand into Dick's hair, held on tight as his lips pressed to his cheek and then, "After you became _you_ , after you claimed another place as your own... you have been on my mind."

"Like this?" It was a fragile wire he walked upon and he knew it; knew the risks and knew the payoff if he chanced it and won.

"Our lives are lonely ones, Dick... the kind that," his breath hitched and his hands were back on Dick's hips, his cock thrusting against Dick's own rough and fast. The most erotic series of grunts Dick had ever heard in his life poured from Bruce's lips and he watched as this gorgeous man, the man he'd wanted for _years_ , worked himself toward a frantic - unstoppable - orgasm. He could see the _need_ , the _shock_ at how quickly it had come on. He felt the tremble of his thighs and then he watched the most gorgeous of looks pass over Bruce's face as he started to cum.

Dick raked his nails over Bruce's chest, earning a hard jerk of his hips and then Bruce was shooting his load, spurt after spurt splashing over Dick's abdomen. "Bruce... oh _fuck_... Bruce." Dick surged forward again, crushing himself against Bruce, feeling the twitch of his cock as he began to rut him hard, straining for it, moaning louder than he meant to, hands clutching at everything within his reach until he was flying over the edge less than a minute behind Bruce, hips jerking as he emptied himself all over _his mentor's_ body. He couldn't think of him any other way in that instant, trembling in his strong arms, mewling his name again and again as he shook from the intensity of an orgasm he'd wanted for far too long. 

He wrapped his arms around Bruce's shoulders and pressed his forehead to his shoulder, shaking in a way he hadn't since the first time he'd ever had truly mind-blowing sex. "I..." he swallowed hard and did his best to try again, "I-" but it still wouldn't come and he just shook his head, clinging to him in a way he hoped belayed the intensity of his need, the depth of his fears associated with all of this, and more than that his plea to not just be discarded now that they'd both cum.

Bruce's hands turned gentle, the glide of them over Dick's back easy and comforting. "You always have a place in my life... you _know that_... don't you?" There was a fear there that Dick would have never thought possible for Bruce. But it was there, sure as anything else.

"I've known _that_ place for a long time," he finally managed. "But it's not everything I've wanted."

Bruce pushed him back and their eyes met, Bruce's gaze searching. "Do you truly think I could do this and then give it all up again?" When Dick didn't answer, he reached up to cup his cheek, thumb slowly dragging over his lips as he shook his head. "This has been a long time coming." He was quiet and then, " _Us_."

Dick's heart skipped a beat and he leaned forward, sealing their lips against one another, pouring all of his love and affection into the action. 

Somewhere on the other side of the door, the announcer's voice cut between songs to wish all the father's out there a Happy Father's Day and all Dick could do was smile.


End file.
